


We're Too Young To Be Cynics

by akire_yta



Category: bandom/disney Chuck AU
Genre: Other, anti valentines day challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-11
Updated: 2010-02-11
Packaged: 2017-12-28 17:01:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/994352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike Carden had a lot of pipe dreams, some great (but annoying) friends, and a dead-end job.  But after opening that email, he now also has all the government's secrets in his head, and they want him to save the world (at $11 a hour) - a <i>Chuck </i>AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from TAI... "We've Got A Big Mess On Our Hands" Plot loosely cribbed from the pilot episode of _Chuck_. And I have no excuses anymore, none whatsoever. Written for the sodamnskippy anti-valentine’s day ficathon. Beta-read by the speedy exmptfromsanity. All other mistakes are mine.

The light bulb hanging above his head flashed, on and off, on and off.

“Stop it.”

“I will stop when you cooperate, my friend.”

Mike pulled his hand from out under his head and flipped William off. “Fuck off,” he said mildly, not taking his eyes off the ceiling.

William sighed, flipping the light switch on and leaving it there. The mattress sagged as he sat down on the end. “Is it time for the annual Carden mope-a-thon?” he asked sympathetically.

Mike closed his eyes so he didn’t have to see William’s ‘listening’ face. “I don’t mope,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “I’m not moping.”

William patted his leg. “Of course you aren’t,” he said sweetly. “You’re just lying in the dark in a completely non-mopey way instead of getting ready to go out and get shitfaced and have a good time with us, your friends, because this is the anniversary of the day you were dumped by your sell-out of an ex.”

“Fuck off,” Mike repeated more viciously.

“Michael,” William shot back just as hotly. “Believe me when I say he did you a favour. Fucker got a suit and a haircut and a real job. You are better off without your sell-out, suit-wearing ex stinking up our bohemian ideal.”

Mike kicked his leg out, smirking with grim satisfaction at William’s outraged little howl.

“Fine,” William snapped. “Fester in the dark composing horrible sonnets to your one true love.” He kicked something on the floor out of his way. “Your sell-out twu wub,” he added sarcastically.

“Turn the fucking light off on your way out,” Mike growled in reply.

“Fine,” William said with a haughty little sniff. “But I stand by my statement. Tom Conrad went off to become a fucking accountant. He turned his back on the music, man. His soul was dead, and you do not want to be the one he sucked dry.”

Mike threw his pillow towards the door. William yelped, the door slamming behind him. Mike stared at the ceiling and sighed.

William had left the light on.

===  
“Evening, sir.”

Tom smiled, sketching a vague salute with his free hand as he marched on down the corridor. Once you got past the front door, 99% of it was just walking with a brisk stride and an aura of confident boredom, like you walked these halls every day and had every right to be there.

By the time news filtered down to the agents at the gate that his clearance had been revoked, well, this would all be over one way or the other.

Tom turned a corner, glancing casually around to make sure the halls were clear. A handy water fountain gave him a leg up, and twelve seconds with his pocket electric screwdriver got him through the slatted vent and into the ventilation system.

Tom grinned without humour as he started belly crawling his way along the metal ducts. Whether it was a laptop or a supercomputer, electronics made heat, and heat needed to be blown away.

If you knew that little fact, you knew that you didn’t need to bother with the well-guarded front door.

A few minutes crawling on his belly, and he dropped lightly through another ventilation hatch into a room bathed in a soft white light. There was a single feature, a monitor and keyboard on a narrow plinth in the centre of the room. Tom studied the setup. It looked almost archaic, with an old-school grey plastic aesthetic. Was it too much to ask for a brushed steel cool-modern look for the most advantaged computer program of the century?

He started at the sound of distant voices. Rolling his shoulders to release the tension, he walked over to the plinth and pulled out a data cable, his phone, and a pair of sunglasses. The hookup took seconds. The automatic keychain program he had spent days perfecting loaded into the system. Tom put on the sunglasses and hit the oversized ‘enter’ key.

The room shattered into a million different windows of colour, thousands of pictures flashing by each second. The tones were muted behind polarized lenses, and Tom let his eyes defocus, lids almost closed, until cool, pristine whiteness filled the room once more.

He took a narrow case out of his breast pocket, and pressed the lumpy clay substance it contained into the keyboard. Patting his pocket to check that his phone was safely tucked away, he took a deep breath and started running for the far door.

The shockwave riding out half a second ahead of the explosion blew the doors off their hinges, sending Tom crashing through with enough force to set his ears ringing. But he was ready for it – the guards weren’t, and he took them down with a quick punch, a roundhouse kick, before they’d even shaken the stars from their eyes.

He ran for the nearest exit, fire door, window, whatever he could find. The building was alive with sirens now, smoke alarms competing with the harsher, braying note of a security alert. Tom found an unsealed window in a tiny office off the main hall. From there it was a straight drop onto the side wing of the building, then a series of short hops, from drainpipe to fire escape and onto asphalt.

He was going to make it.

He sprinted towards the boundary, letting his stride lengthen, two thirds to go, one half, one quarter. The first fence was almost at his fingertips when his back exploded in pain. The bullet ripped through his ribcage, and Tom choked, the blood pouring into his lungs through the hole the bullet left behind making him feel like he was drowning.

He managed one more step before falling down, landing hard onto his shoulder as he managed to turn into the impact. His hands clutched into his chest, clawing at his phone, fingers tapping out the command he hoped he’d never have to use.

A heavy boot kicked his shoulder, sending fresh waves of pain through his body. Tom rolled onto his back and smiled up at his shooter, feeling the blood trickle out of the corner of his mouth.

“Too late, Macy,” he sighed, chest rattling as he struggled to draw breath. “Sorry.”

His thumb pressed ‘send’ as greyness began to seep into his vision. Macy scowled at him, cocking her pistol. “Whatever,” she snapped, leveling the weapon at Tom’s heart. She sneered. “Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.”

Tom closed his eyes as she squeezed the trigger.

===

Mike scowled at the strings and plucked a sour note. He put the guitar aside and flopped backwards onto the mattress, making the ancient springs squeak. Even he didn’t want to be with himself.

Fucking Valentine’s Day. Fucking Hallmark. Fucking friends who fucking left him here alone.

Fuck them all.

Mike pushed himself upright with resolute determination. He was going to get very drunk. Tomorrow would get here sooner that way, and then it wouldn’t be Valentine’s Day for another 364 days.

He found a half-finished bottle of vodka on the shelf over the sink in the kitchen. Perfect. Unscrewing the cap, he took a swig, scowling at his reflection in the darkened window.

There was a chime of digital bells from the computer. Wandering back up the passage, he didn’t bother to sit down. He just leaned over and tapped his mail program, cursing until it blossomed up from where he had parked it on the task bar.

He slammed the bottle onto the table top. Mike blinked in surprise, waiting for the name in the sender field to change into something more logical.

Because there was no reason in hell for Tom fucking Conrad to be sending him emails, the bastard. This was William’s fault. He invoked the name of the beast, and now here it was, responding to the summons. Mike was tempted to send the message straight to silicon hell, but his finger hesitated, cursor hovering over the delete key.

Why was Tom Conrad sending him emails _now_?

The cursor drifted down the screen slowly, almost of its own volition. Mike made a face, grabbed the vodka, knocked back a generous belt to steel himself, then opened the email.

One line. “You always did the right thing.” And an attachment.

What the fuck did that mean? Pissed off was gaining the emotional upper hand, and he double-clicked the attachment. The file unzipped itself, unfurling a single text box.

Am-G-G-Am-C-G_____.

There was a cursor, blinking, waiting for a response.

Mike scowled at the screen. He was almost ready to turn away and go back to drinking for oblivion, but he could hear the faint echoes, Tom’s voice clucking, calling him chicken, teasing and laughing.

Am-G-G-Am-C-G. The opening chords of the first song they ever wrote together, back when they were young and stupid and so sure they were going to be rockstars.

He hesitated a second longer. “C-C-Am” he typed into the field.

The screen went blank. Mike rolled his eyes. “Of course it’s a fucking virus, you _fucking bastard_!” he yelled at the screen.

The screen exploded, a kaleidoscope of colours and images and _stuff_ that seemed to burn its way through his retina and into his brain. Time ceased to have any meaning. There was only the tsunami of imagery.

Then it stopped, the computer powering down with a little whine and the faint, acrid smell of burning wires.

Mike rocked on his feet, once, twice. He blinked up at the ceiling, wondering vaguely how it had got up there. Then there was nothing.

====

Mike groaned as someone whisked open the curtains. “’uck off,” he groaned.

“Michael, Michael, Michael,” William scoffed. Mike heard the glassy chime of a bottle being picked up, sniffed, and put back down on the desk. “Did you have a good pity party? Half a bottle of vodka, all by your lonesome? If you keep this up, I may be forced to make you admit you have a problem.”

Mike tried to protest, but he felt tongue-tied, his brain too heavy for his skull. He settled for pushing himself up off the carpet with a groan.

William sighed sympathetically. “Want me to lie to Gabe for you?”

Mike winced, scraping his tongue over his teeth in a futile attempt to get rid of the fuzzy feeling. “Nah, just give me ten to have a shower.”

He staggered out into the living room five minutes later, towel wrapped around his waist and water still dripping from his hair. “Has anyone seen my fucking work shirt,” he snapped at the room in general.

There was a chorus of vague negatives. Sisky and Butcher were planted in front of the TV shoveling Lucky Charms into their mouths as they watched cartoons. Michael Guy looked up, frowned, and looked around. “Hang on, mate, I think I remember…” He extended his leg and poked at Sisky with his bare foot. “Shove over.”

Sisky rolled into the Butcher, and Michael pulled a faded green polo out from under him. Mike caught the awkward toss, grimacing at the mess of creases. There was no time to iron it, even if he could remember where the iron was.

“Pants are also useful,” William pointed out helpfully as he jiggled the keys.

“Give me a fucking sec, okay,” Mike growled, looking around for the clean clothes pile he was sure was out here yesterday.

“Kitchen,” Michael Guy called out.

Mike waved another thanks as he headed through the arch into the joke of a kitchen. Cleanish clothes were piled on the counter, and he pawed through them until he found a pair of jeans that would pass.

He wandered back out, buttoning the fly. On screen, the cartoon credits rolled off the screen, and the face of a newsreader appeared to a swell of dramatic music.

Sisky made a rude noise. “Remote,” he called. “Shit, where is it.”

Mike ignored them, focused on flipping his t-shirt right way out. As he pulled it over his head, the news reader was replaced by scenes from a press conference. The agitation on the couch grew louder as they began pulling out the cushions looking for the remote.

Mike glanced at the screen, some old dude in a uniform—  
 _namerankserialnumberschematicfloorplan **terrorist** plotproject **codenamehunter** insurgentcellassasinplotguarddetailtravelplan **topsecrettopsecrettopsecret**_

“Mike!”

Mike blinked, feeling himself rock on his feet. “Huh?”

William snapped his fingers in Mike’s face. “Dude, come on, wakey wakey. Duty calls.”

===

The General scuffed her toe through the ashes and rubble, all that was left after billions of dollars of investment and countless hours of effort. “One agent did all this?” she wondered aloud.

“One rogue agent,” her colleague corrected in mild rebuke.

She scowled. Tom Conrad theoretically was one of hers, though he’d been under so deep for so long, she really couldn’t say much more about him. She’d read his file on the way over: by all accounts, a gifted and talented agent, with few known associates and no prior indications that he was about to turn.

“We still don’t know how, let alone why,” she pointed out, looking up at the sound of feet crunching over the rubble. “And we may never know, since he was killed rather than captured for interrogation,” she added sharply to the young woman in civilian clothes who was picking her way through the debris towards them.

“Sorry, ma’am,” the newcomer replied with a smirk as she stopped to a halt and snapped out a salute that managed to be both textbook and a hairs-breadth from insolent at the same time. “But I didn’t think you’d want him getting over the fence.”

The General rolled her eyes. “Major Misa, not only did you kill our suspect, you also failed to recapture the Intersect.”

“It’s not like you can catch software with a net,” she said with an insolent little shrug.

“Major!” the General snapped. “I don’t think you understand the severity of the situation.”

Misa just shrugged, hands in her pockets, arrogance insolence radiating off her in waves. “It’s an intelligence program,” she said dismissively.

The General took a deep breath. “It’s not just an intelligence program,” she said slowly, choosing her words with care. “It’s every piece of intelligence we had, processed and databased to mine every connection, ever link.” She took a step forward, quietly pleased when Misa snapped automatically to attention. “The Intersect is all our secrets, coded to show the full picture. The Intersect was meant to make it so we’d never be caught with our pants down again. The Intersect was the core of our new intelligence strategy.” She took another step forward, until she was almost nose to nose with the young Major. “And now the Intersect is out of our hands. I suggest you get it back, before I reassign you to scrub toilets in Siberia until you **rot**.”

Misa’s nodded curtly, her shoulders pulled back, spine straight. “We’ve already tracked the email he sent to an address in Chicago, ma’am.”

The General scowled. “Then why are you still here?”

Misa snapped a salute, turned, and strode out of the ruins of the Intersect chamber.

The General watched her go. “Can she do it?”

Her companion stepped out of the shadows. “Macy Misa is one of my best agents,” he said smoothly.

The General snorted. “She’s trigger happy.”

He made a noise, but didn’t deny it. “She can handle anything that comes up.” He smiled at her, a sudden expression that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “It’ll be okay, Greta,” he added in a voice barely above a whisper. “We can still save this.”

She sighed, and shook her head. “You always were an optimist, Patrick,” she replied just as softly. She sighed again and looked around the wreckage. “But for this, I think we need an insurance policy.”

Patrick’s mouth set into a hard, thin line. “Misa’s my best agent, and she works alone,” he cautioned.

“Not this time,” Greta told him firmly.

====

Mike stared blearily at the wall of televisions, the cartoon loop melting into puddles of colour and noise.

“Mike?” There was a vague clicking, and Mike blinked until William’s fingers came into focus. “Earth to Carden,” William said, snapping his again.

“What?” Mike snapped. He’d swallowed a fistful of Tylenol in the staff room, but his head was still throbbing.

William leered at him. “Hot mama at twelve o’clock,” he hissed, taking Mike by the shoulders and spinning him on the spot. “I do believe that is my cue. Back my play?”

A petite brunette was standing alone, looking speculatively at the speaker stack. Mike gave William a baleful look. “You go help her; I’m just going to stand here ‘til my head explodes, okay?”

William tsked under his breath, but he straightened his shirt and sauntered over, a broad smile on his face.

“Is Bill on the prowl?” Mike glanced over, rolling his eyes at Nate’s hungry expression.

“Who let you out of kitchen appliances?”

There was a scoff, and Suarez popped up on Nate’s other side. “Take pity on us, we only ever get the middle-aged mamas coming in to buy whitegoods.” His tongue was almost hanging out of his mouth. “Trust me, she’s not the whitegood-buying type. Woo and hoo!”

Mike made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat.

“Not your type?” Nate asked, never taking his eyes off William. “Does Carden prefer blondes?” he added teasingly.

There was a short laugh, and Mike turned to see Sisky wandering over. “Carden prefers boys,” he said easily. “Which just means more for us – oh, here he goes!”

Despite himself, Mike found his attention drawn to where William had stepped up to the young woman, his body language easy and open. This far away, Mike couldn’t hear them talk, but he had heard William’s patter enough times by now to know the gist of what he was saying.

He blinked as the dark-haired woman turned to face him, arms crossed. She leaned in slightly, peering at his nametag. She shrugged, said something, turned and walked away.

William looked shell-shocked. Mike hurried over, Sisky, Nate and Suarez hot on his heels. “Bill, you okay?”

His mouth gaped for a moment. “I…she…wow.” He sucked in a deep breath. “Obviously she doesn’t like tall and handsome strangers. Perhaps she has been recently burned by an amorous affair gone wrong. Yes, that must be the only explanation.”

Mike shook his head and wandered off as the other guys started weaving this huge and improbable story to account for William’s spectacular crash and burn.

“Excuse me?”

Mike turned. The brunette smiled winningly at him. Her eyes flashed to his nametag, and her smile sharpened, turning into something a lot more seductive.

For a split second, his mind filled with the echo of gun fire and the smell of cordite and blood, and Mike suddenly understood, in an abstract kind of way, why William was looking so shell-shocked. “Hi,” he said automatically. “Welcome to Buy More, how can I help you?”

She took a step closer, invading his personal space. “My name’s Macy,” she purred. “I need some help.” Her smile was warm, but her eyes were cold. Mike shivered and took half a step back, almost knocking over a display of CD spindles. “With a computer program?”

Mike held up his hands in warding. “Ah, you need to talk to the Alexes, they’re our computer specialists; I work AV.”

He almost sighed in relief when three voices said in tandem “Did someone call?”

Mike beamed at them – normally, he found them to be creepy little fuckers, like some kind of mutant telepathic triplet-beast, but right now he was overjoyed to see them. “Alexes, this lady needs some help with a program, if you’ll excuse me?” The words almost tripped over each other as he wormed his way around the little group and made a beeline for the door marked ‘Staff Only.’

He slumped against the grey walls as the door swung shut behind him. As he half expected, it banged open a second later.

“Dude, dude,” William said, taking him by the shoulders and shaking him gently. “I thought we had a deal. Any ladies who miss the whole ‘bats for own team’ vibe get passed off to your trusty wingman – namely, me! How could you give the introduction to the Alexes of all people!”

Mike shook his head, brushing off William’s hands. “Man, I swear, she had, like, psycho-killer eyes or something.” He waved his fingers vaguely in front of his face for emphasis.

William made a face. “But what a face! What a body!” His eyes lost focus, his expression dreamy. “I bet she saves orphans, or is a famous surgeon, or something.”

“Or something,” Mike agreed. “Listen, I’m going on break. Tell me when psycho orphan killer lady is gone, okay?”

William waved him off. “Fine, I’ll protect you from the girl. But you owe me!”

Mike flipped him off and beat a hasty escape to the staff room.

===

Mike thought he wasn’t prone to paranoia, but it seemed every time he stuck his nose out into the storefront, there was a petite brunette lurking around: by DVDs, in consumer appliances, then outside by the yoghurt cart set up by the main doors to the mall proper. He gave up after an hour and sequestered himself in the store room with a clipboard and a set of boxcutters for protection.

He looked up as the cage door rattled. “Still hiding?” William asked with a smirk.

Mike flipped him off, turning back to look at the mess he’d made. “Tell me, Bill. Why the hell could someone pour what I think is half a bottle of vodka into the sound system.” He kicked one of the speakers the store rented out with his sneakered foot.

“Oh dear,” William asked, one hand over his face. “Dead?”

“Like a dodo.” Mike snarled and tossed a tangle of cables onto the floor. “Along with everything that was hooked into the system at the time. Total overload, everything’s fried.”

“Alas, poor sound system,” William said, completely unsympathetic. “Shall we take a long lunch in its honour?”

“Fuck yes.” Throwing the clipboard onto the floor, Mike stood up and stretched slowly. “But can we sneak out the back way?”

William laughed loudly. “Don’t worry, Michael, I’ll protect you from your stalker girl. All, what, ninety pounds of her?”

Mike flipped him off as he leaned against the release bar and pushed open the deliveries door. He dropped down onto the asphalt below the loading dock, his hands patting down his pockets until his found his cigarette packet. His lighter flickered, and he sucked down a grateful drag. “What should we get? Sausage?”

William smirked at him. “Wow, your dry spell must be getting long if that’s where you mind goes for lunch.”

Mike looked at William, unimpressed. “Just for that, we’re getting sausage and you’re paying, and,” he added, pointing his cigarette at William. “If you make one more crack about my love life, I will fucking fellate it in front of you.”

William waggled his eyebrows. “Ooh la la, let me get the video camera.” Mike took off across the parking lot, William jogging to catch up. The sunlight was making Mike wince, his head aching as the glare bore through his eyes. “But, seriously, dude,” William said. “ I didn’t think you were that hard up against the end of the Kinsey scale. Why the sudden girl-phobia?”

Mike wished he’d remembered his sunglasses. “It’s not girl-phobia,” he corrected gruffly. “It’s a _her_ -phobia. Something about her, man, I don’t know, just sets off warning bells.” He shook his head and rubbed his temples, trying to clear from the back of his mind, weird fleeting images of a petite little girl spinning around into a high kick that sent a uniformed man with a big gun crashing to the ground.

William was smirking at him when he lowered his hand. “You’re fucking odd, Carden,” he said without rancour. “Also, don’t look but the belle of your ball is watching you from her car.

Mike pushed open the door with both hands. “Kill me now,” he griped as the smell of overcooked sausages and onions filled his nose.

“How does death by cholesterol sound?” William shot back as they joined the line at the counter. “Seriously, dude, if you want me to cover for you, I will. You don’t look so great, and besides, if you disappear, maybe you can lose the stalker.”

Mike waved him off as the line inched forward. “Like I can afford to drop the hours. I’ll be fine, I can make stocktake last the rest of the day.

William stared at him for a moment before turning away to look at the menu hung over the counter. “Ooh, that’s right, it’s Thursday. My favourite special day.” He let his eyes drop. “Alas, no wiener-girl today.

Mike ignored him.

“Hello, wiener-boy,” William said loudly as they came to the front of the line. “Is my darling wiener-girl not in today?”

The low, amused chuckle caught Mike’s attention. Normally, people either laughed nervously or just started backing away from William’s inanity. “Sorry, Sarah quit.” William mimed staggering backwards, hand to his brow. “Sorry,” the guy behind the counter repeated. “I’m Kevin. I’m new.” He smiled. “Can I take your order?”

Mike stuttered through his order and backed up as William paid and led the way back out to the tiny tables lined up outside overlooking the parking lot.

Alas,” William said as he sat down, somehow managing to take up one entire bench by himself. “Your bad luck today is contagious, no more Sarah. But on the upside, your stalker girl’s car is gone.” Mike breathed out a sigh of relief. “And wiener-boy was staring at you like he’d like _you_ for lunch.” He made an obscene slurping noise. “And the way you were staring back, I’d say the feeling is mutual.”

“Fuck off,” Mike growled, keeping his eyes on his soda.

William laughed delightedly. “Oh, _Michael_ , you’re adorable. And, may I say, about time you got back on that particular horse.”

He smirked to himself, and Mike held up a finger in warning. “Whatever horrific mental picture you currently have playing, please don’t share it.” He dropped his hand suddenly as the door opened and Kevin backed out, juggling two trays. He dropped one at the only other occupied outside table with a cursory nod, then sashayed over to Mike and William. “And two specials.” He glanced at the identical meals before carefully putting one in front of William and the other in front of Mike with a sweet little smile.

William twisted to watch him go. “Wow,” he said with raised eyebrows. “Do you need a cigarette after all that eyefucking?”

Mike ignored him and picked up his sandwich. A piece of paper fluttered out from beneath it. William snatched it out of the air and unfolded it before Mike could react. He started to laugh.

“What?” Mike demanded, making a futile attempt to snatch it back.

“Dude,” William crowed, waving the scrap of paper like a flag. “He gave you his _phone number_.”

====

The little bell above the door dinged. “Sorry, we’re closing,” Kevin called out.

“You’re an idiot is what you are.” Kevin turned slowly, smiling as charmingly as he could with a tomato-shaped sauce bottle in one hand and a dubious dishrag in the other. “Also," she snapped, glancing around the tiny shop with a professional's eye. "You’re in my way.”

Kevin carefully put the sauce bottle back on the table, arranging it neatly with the serviette dispenser and the salt and pepper. He would swear that he could hear Macy’s teeth grinding from here. “I’m here on orders, Major,” he said at last in the same cheerfully bland voice. “Remember those.”

Macy stomped across the tiny seating area and got up in Kevin’s face. Kevin kept his smile neutral as he let his hands drop to his belt and the knife he had concealed there. “My orders,” she growled. “Are clear. And you’re not a part of them. I have the situation under control.”

Kevin winked at her. “Yeah, the mark and his friend were talking about you when they came for lunch. At least I think it was you. Crazy psycho-stalker girl did seem to fit the bill.”

Macy took a step back, and folded her arms over her chest. “Oh, you think you can get closer?” she sneered.

Kevin shrugged. “Major, we’re on the same side. Find out what he knows, re-secure the Intersect, get the hell out of suburbia. It’s not a _competition_ ,” he added with careful emphasis, watching Macy’s face closely.

Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll find out what he knows,” she said confidently. She cocked her hips. “No-one says no to Macy Misa for long.” She bit her bottom lip, studying Kevin. “As soon as I get him out of the house, you can do the B&E and get the computer,” she added magnanimously.

“So kind,” Kevin said with a smile sharp like knives. “Or vice versa.”

She laughed in his face. “You? What, you’re going out for beers and sports night? He’s not that kind of guy, sweetheart.”

Kevin suppressed the urge to mock her back. “Oh, I think I’ve got a better sense of what kind of guy he is than you.”

Macy spluttered, her rant cut off by the sound of a cell phone ringing. Kevin held up one finger for silence as he flipped it open. “Hello, Kevin Jonas speaking.” He beamed at her. “Yes, Mike from lunch today. How could I forget, I did give you my number, remember?” He laughed, winking at Macy. “No, my big plans for tonight was leftovers and the Next Top Model marathon,” he replied with a flirty little giggle. His eyes were hard. “Yes, I would love to go to dinner with you. Give me your address, I’ll pick you up at seven. Uh huh,” he said, making no move to write it down. He already knew it. “Great, see you in a couple of hours.” He snapped the phone shut.

Macy was spluttering, incoherent with rage.

Kevin’s smile was angelic. “I’ll keep him out for at least four hours. I know he has roommates, but I’m sure securing the computer without them noticing won’t cause you too much trouble.”

“YOU!” Macy spluttered, finally managing to spit out an incoherent growl of rage.

He took a step forward and patted her shoulder consolingly. “I know what boys like,” he told her with a wink. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get the smell of onions off me before my hot date tonight.” He tugged off his apron and tossed at her. “Remember, you get the computer. I’ll get what he knows, that’s the deal. You stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours, and we can finish this and go back to real jobs.” The bell above the door rang again as he let himself out.

Macy yanked it open after him. “You fuck this up, I’m cleaning house and taking you out with the trash, Jonas,” she yelled after him.

Kevin smiled to himself and kept on walking. This assignment was starting to get fun.


	2. Chapter 2

  
Mike rifled through his wardrobe, pulling out shirts only to discard them on the floor. He growled at the back of his throat as he ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated. Mike span around as William whistled meaningfully from his position standing in the doorway to Mike’s room, a hanger dangling from one finger. “Need this?”   
  
Mike glanced at his watch and cursed. “Yes, fuck, gimme.” He grabbed the dark blue shirt off the hanger and tugged it on, cursing under his breath as his fingers fumbled the buttons.   
  
“Breathe, Carden. Seriously, you’re going to have a heart attack at this rate.” William tapped Mike’s chin. “Here, let me.” His fingers deftly buttoned up the shirt, and he took a step back to look Mike up and down appraisingly. “Hmm,” he murmured at last. “Not too shabby. Pity about the hair.”   
  
Mike combed his fingers through his hair, which fell straight back down over his face. “Shut up about my hair, okay.”   
  
William perched himself on the edge of Mike’s desk. “So, where are you two crazy kids going, anyway?”   
  
Mike turned, scowling at his reflection in the mirror hung from the back of the closet door as he fidgeted with his collar. “I made a reservation at that Mexican place Chislett and his girlfriend always go to, he says it’s pretty nice.”   
  
In the mirror, Mike saw William raise an eyebrow. “Mexican. A bold choice, I salute you sir.”   
  
Mike shrugged, resisting the urge to strip off the nice button down and crawl into the familiar comfort of one of his torn band t-shirts. “Yeah, well, Tom hated Mexican, so I figure…”   
  
He didn’t see William move, he was just  _there_  in front of Mike, his finger resting lightly on Mike’s lips. “Word to the wise, my friend. Ixnay on the ex-boyfriend talk, okay?” Mike brushed him off and stepped away, but William hounded him, almost stepping on his feet. “Mike, please, I’m being serious.” Mike stopped, but didn’t turn. “Tom leaving, I know that fucked you up, okay, and it hurt. But it’s time to patch up your scars and get back out there.” Long fingers tugged at Mike’s shoulders, and he slowly turned as William pulled him around. “There is an adorable wiener boy who wants to take you out to dinner and maybe, if you’re lucky, do dirty dirty things to your body.” He leaned in to gently headbump Mike’s forehead. “ _Let him_.”   
  
Mike couldn’t help but laugh. “Please tell me you’re not going to give me The Talk as well,  _dad_.”   
  
William patted his cheeks. “No, but I refreshed the condom supply in your drawer, since all yours had expired.” He grinned as Mike felt his cheeks warm. “Cute. Now, go get ‘em, tiger.”   
  
“Mike!” They turned as Sisky skidded on the tiles in the corridor and slammed into the doorframe. “Your boy is here. What is he, a trust fund baby or something?” Mike frowned as he grabbed his keys and walked out the door.   
  
He could feel four pairs of eyes spying on him through the windows as he met Kevin in the courtyard. “Hi,” he said, not sure whether they should shake hands, or kiss, or what.   
  
Kevin stuck his hands in his back pockets. Mike was relieved to see Kevin was also in jeans and a nice shirt. “Hi yourself.” He shrugged, looking awkward. “Umm, I haven’t made any plans or…”   
  
“Do you like Mexican?” Mike blurted out.   
  
Kevin beamed at him. “I  _love_  Mexican food.”   
  
Mike felt himself relax slightly. “Great, I know just the place.”   
  
Sisky’s comment came back to him as Kevin led him up to a sleek black sports car parked on the curb outside his building. “This is yours?” he asked incredulously. “Geez, I need to change jobs if this is what Wiener World is paying.”   
  
Kevin’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Do you know the way,” he said instead of answering the question. “I’m still too new to Chicago, I get lost all the time.”   
  
Mike slung himself into the passenger seat and tried to tell himself that the butterflies in his stomach were just first date nerves.   
  
====   
  
  
  
The warped wood gave up the fight, creaking and stuttering as it was slid open. The slim, black-clad figure slipped over the windowsill, moving silently as it tip-toed over the mess of clothes, magazines, and game controllers scattered over the floor.   
  
The computer was half-buried on the desk, and the figure considered it for a moment, head tilted to one side. One hand reached into a pouch on the belt. The blade of the knife flicked into position with a near-silent click. A few quick slices, and all the cables fell away from the back of the small grey box.   
  
The figure froze at the sound of laughter in the corridor. “Dude, I can’t believe Mike actually called the number,” someone brayed.   
  
“He never could say no to William’s stupid dares. I just can’t believe it worked,” another voice shot back, right outside the door.   
  
The figure relaxed minutely as the voices passed by the closed door and moved away into the house. Scooping up the hard drive, gloved hands scrabbling for traction on the smooth plastic housing, the figure turned for the window.   
  
“Quick, now’s the time to get back the Wii controller!” The door slammed open, the lights turning on.   
  
The figure turned. Moving on instinct, it scooped up a shoe with its foot, flicking it towards the two men frozen in the doorway. As they ducked, the figure turned to bolt, but tripped over a pile of dirty laundry.   
  
The computer bounced off the windowsill and tumbled over. As the figure leapt after it, the sound of the crash reverberated through the room. Glancing down at the shattered pieces littered across the concrete patio, the black-clad figure breathed a curse and bounded away into the night.   
  
Sisky and Michael Guy approached the window more cautiously. “Dude,” Sisky sighed. “Ninja!”   
  
Michael Guy shook his head. “No fucking way, man. I bet you it was one of the fucking Alexes, playing a prank.” He looked down at the shattered computer. “And Mike is going to be  _pissed_.”   
  
Over the boundary wall, Macy dropped into the drivers’ seat of the car and yanked off her mask. She ran her fingers through her hair and swore inventively.   
  
General Salpeter was not going to be happy.   
  
====   
  
Kevin licked up a stray grain of salt and grinned at Mike. “Wow, I haven’t done margaritas in ages.”   
  
Mike nursed his beer, still feeling tense and awkward. “Not one to chase the worm?”   
  
Kevin looked up at Mike through his lashes. “Not as a rule, no. So,” he said, leaning forward across the table. “Tell me about yourself.” He grinned as Mike made a face. “Hey, clichés are clichéd for a reason. Come on, you work at Buy More, right?”   
  
Mike nodded. “AV.” Kevin nodded, and Mike shrugged, unsure what to say. “I got good at rigging sound systems on tour, and it was kind of my only marketable skill, so...”   
  
Kevin took a sip of his chaser. “On tour?”   
  
Mike winced and began picking at the label on the bottle. “I’ve been in bands since I was a teenager. This one band, I thought we might have had a shot, we were touring, getting scouted, then our other guitarist decided to leave and...” He winced, William’s warnings echoing in his head. “Hello Buy More,” he finished lamely. “What about you?” he asked hurriedly. “What brings you to Wiener World?”   
  
It was somehow a relief to Mike that Kevin looked embarrassed. “I still can’t believe I’m working there,” he admitted, tugging at his collar. “I, well,” he licked his lips. “I was in New York, but then I had a bad breakup, and suddenly the Big Apple felt a little too small.” He looked away. “All my friends were actually his friends, and every place had too many memories....” He shook his head and raised his beer. “But good riddance. To fresh starts.”   
  
Mike could drink to that. Awkward silence filled the air between them for several seconds. Mike tried to think of something to say. “Do you want dessert,” he asked as servers came to clear their plates away.   
  
Kevin smiled, sly and knowing. “Not right now. Tell you what, you picked dinner, so I pick what we do next.” He stood up and held out his hand. “Trust me?”   
  
Mike forced a smile and took his hand.   
  
====   
  
Kevin didn’t let him go as he led Mike down the narrow, dark steps and into the heaving sea of people. “Want a drink?” Kevin yelled over the noise of music and a hundred different conversations.   
  
Mike nodded, taking the lead to push through the throngs to the quieter bar at the back of the club. Back here, the noise was merely deafening, but Mike was glad to have the break from making awkward conversation.   
  
Every story he’d started seemed to loop back to Tom, and he’d had to cut himself short time and again. Kevin seemed distracted, and Mike couldn’t blame him. He signalled the barman for two beers.   
  
They stood, leaning up against the end of the bar, watching the crowds and the band. Mike was sure he’d seen them somewhere before. The drummer in particular seemed strangely familiar.   
  
He felt dizzy for a moment, overwhelmed. There was a flash of light behind his retina, the vague impression of flowers, _schematicsdetonationatetimer_ , and then someone jostled past, breaking the spell.   
  
“Are you okay?” Kevin asked.   
  
Mike grunted something non-committal as he shook his head to clear the lingering echo of wiring. Next to him, Kevin put his bottle on the bar and turned towards Mike with a determined expression on his face. “Okay,” he said. “Listen, I know I’ve got ex issues, and I’m getting the feeling that you’ve got a matching set of baggage.”   
  
Mike made a face, but didn’t try to deny it.   
  
Kevin nodded, like that was all the answer he needed. His eyes darted left and right, and then focused back in on Mike. “So what’s say we cancel the date, and just hang out. No pressure, no expectations, just more beer and whatever we feel like getting up to tonight.”   
  
Mike raised his bottle, feeling something deep inside him relax slightly. “I say lets drink to that!”   
  
Again, there was that slight flicker in his eyes as Kevin seemed to scan the room, before coming back to Mike with a smile. “Cool.” He drifted sideways, and Mike blinked for a second, unable to spot what was wrong with the scene. But the moment passed, and Kevin was smiling at him, tugging him off the bar. “Hey, this band is pretty good, let’s get closer.”   
  
Mike tried to protest, but Kevin’s grip was like steel as he towed him through the crowd towards the stage. It was darker at this end, the stage lights casting long shadows through the crowd.   
  
Mike rubbed his temples with his free hand. The strobing lights and almost distorted sound from the speakers was bringing his headache back with a vengeance. He blinked as Kevin tugged on his sleeve. “You okay?” Kevin asked, his voice almost lost in the noise and music.   
  
He considered lying, but gave up and shook his head. ‘No,’ he mouthed. The date was already an epic failure, and the last thing he needed was a migraine on top of that. Mentally, he cursed Tom Conrad again – even long gone, he was still fucking up Mike’s life.   
  
Kevin was pushing him towards the edge of the crowd. Mike dug his heels in. “That way’s out,” he yelled over the noise, his sense of unease rising.   
  
In response, Kevin pointed to an exit sign glowing in the dark over a door set in a tiny alcove by the stage. The door slammed open as Kevin knocked the bar with his hip, and outside the air was clean and cool. Mike sucked in deep lungfuls, willing his head to clear. Kevin snatched up his hand. “Come on,” he snapped, tugging Mike back up the alley.   
  
Mike was dragged along for a few yards, too shocked to react. “What?” he managed at last. In the space between standing at the bar and coming outside, Kevin seemed to have metamorphosed into someone a lot...harder. A lot less sweet. “What’s wrong?” Mike asked again.  
  
Kevin’s answering smirk was small and mirthless. “Time to go,” he said flatly as he almost pushed Mike across the crowded sidewalk and into the passenger side of his car.   
  
Mike climbed into the car on automatic. “What’s wrong?” he repeated as Kevin slung himself into the driver’s seat.   
  
“Seatbelt,” Kevin snapped, turning the key and revving the engine.   
  
Mike snapped the belt across his chest, feeling more confused and bewildered by the second. He looked up as Kevin muttered a curse under his breath. Kevin was staring through the windshield, and Mike followed his gaze. “Holy shit, it’s stalker-girl!”   
  
Kevin grinned, threw the car into gear, and punched the gas. Mike clutched the armrest as the car shot backwards and roared down the street in reverse. “Mike,” Kevin said calmly, eyes glued to the rear vision mirror. “I need you to look and tell me how close we are to a side-street we can turn around in. Just count it down, three two one now, so I know where to turn.”   
  
Mike shook his hair out of his eyes as he twisted in his seat and tried to figure out the perspectives. He could see people on the street turning to look as the car reversed as fast as it could. “Uhh, three, two, one, er, NOW!”   
  
Kevin flung the wheel, and Mike felt his whole body sway as inertia took hold. For one sickening second, he thought they were spinning out of control. But instead of the crunch of twisted metal, he heard the squeal of tires as the skidded and caught traction, and Mike was flung back into the door as the car finished sliding and Kevin shifted gears. The engine roared and they shot across the intersection, leaving the noise of horns in their wake.   
  
Mike straightened up slowly in his seat, gently tugging at the seatbelt until it released and loosened up again. “Kevin,” he shouted. “What the hell is going on? Who is she?”   
  
Kevin glanced in the rear-view mirror. “She’s from the NSA, and she has orders to bring you in, one way or the other.”   
  
For a brief, blissful second, Mike didn’t get what he meant. Then it hit him. His stomach lurched. “What?” he said weakly.  
  
Kevin shot him a quick sideways. “We need to get you out of here and to safety,” he said briskly, taking another corner seemingly at random.   
  
Mike stared out of the windscreen, open-mouthed. “A psychotic pixie has orders from the freaking government to kill me,” he said slowly, desperately willing the pieces to make sense. “Why me, I’m just a tech geek at a big box store. I’m a nobody.” He paused, frowning. "What do you mean, get me to safety? Who are you?"   
  
Kevin’s jaw tightened as he shifted gears and pulled up. They had driven out of the nightclub area, and the streets were dark and silent. Tall office blocks loomed above them. He twisted in his seat and leaned across the centre console. “Listen,” he said intensely, one hand resting on Mike’s bicep. “I will get you through this, but I need you to trust me.”   
  
Mike breathed out.   
  
There was the roar of a big engine, and the SUV slammed into them from behind. Mike saw stars as his head bounced off the airbag and slammed back into the headrest. The world span, and he vaguely realized someone had rammed them. He didn’t have the energy to fight as strong hands caught his wrists and pulled him out of the car.   
  
“Come on!” Kevin screamed in his ear, hauling him across a manicured lawn and into a building. Mike was vaguely aware that Kevin was yelling into his cellphone, something about pickup and being on foot, but it was all Mike could do to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other.   
  
They skidded into the lobby, and Kevin hauled Mike into the first elevator. “Hold the door,” he snapped, dashing off.   
  
Mike leaned out, watching as Kevin raced around all the other elevator cars, sending them all to the top floor. “Come on,” he snapped again, pushing Mike back into their elevator car as he punched the button for the roof.   
  
“Is now a good time to ask again what the fuck?” Mike tried for angry, but it came out weak and confused.   
  
Kevin turned and pushed up into him, forcing Mike to back up until he hit the side wall of the elevator. “How well do you know Tom Conrad?” Kevin demanded, eyes flashing.  
  
Mike felt like he’d been punched in the gut. “How the fuck do you know Conrad?” he spat, the old fury overriding his confusion for a moment. He glared at Kevin, and Kevin held his ground and glared back.  
  
The elevator dinged, announcing their arrival and breaking the deadlock. Kevin made an impatient noise under his breath as he grabbed the front of Mike’s shirt and hauled him out of the elevator into a non-descript room.   
  
Kevin pushed Mike forward, grabbing his arm to drag him along when Mike tried to pull away. “No,” Mike snapped. “Not until you tell me how you know Tom Conrad!” Fear and confusion were giving way to incandescent fury, at Tom, at this situation, at his whole fucking life.   
  
Kevin glanced back to the elevators. “Tom and I worked together at the CIA,” he said flatly.   
  
Mike’s mouth dropped open, and Kevin seized the moment and dragged Mike down a short passage. He kicked open the door, and Mike blinked as grit and dust blew in. Kevin’s fingers were like a vice around his wrist as he towed Mike out and onto the helicopter pad that covered the roof. “Wait,” Mike spluttered, pulling free. He stood on the edge of the chopper pad, thinking furiously as Kevin stalked across the roof. “Tom Conrad is a  _spy_?”   
  
“A rogue spy,” Kevin spat, sounding just as angry as Mike felt. He strode back towards Mike. “Has he contacted you recently?”   
  
Mike felt like he was falling without a safety net into Wonderland. “No, that bastard....” he froze. “Oh, wait,” he said quietly. “He sent me an email. On Valentine’s Day.” Mike closed his eyes, feeling the wind whip through his hair.   
  
“Mike!” Kevin was sounding tense, on edge. “I need to know, did you open it?”   
  
Mike nodded. “Yeah. There was...guitar chords. And then pictures.” He opened his eyes to see Kevin’s worried face staring at him. “Lots of pictures. And they hurt to look at.” Kevin gasped, horror and worry clear on his face. “Was I not meant to see them?” Mike asked slowly, eyes tracking down Kevin's arm. Kevin had a gun in his hand, and he was holding it like he was used to it. Mike tensed up, staring at the gun.  
  
“Mike,” Kevin said, voice pitched low. “Things are going to get a little weird, but right now I need you to trust me and not freak out, okay?”   
  
Mike frowned. There was too much going on to keep straight.   
  
He opened his mouth to ask why. “It’s late,” a female voice said behind him before he could speak. Mike jumped in surprise as the voice continued speaking, so casual and calm. “You made me dent my ride, and this wind is doing horrible things to my hair.” Mike turned slowly, staring in horror as stalker girl walked casually onto the pad, taking up a position equal distance between Mike and Kevin. “So just hand the dweeb over, okay?”   
  
Kevin pursed his lips and aimed his gun at Mike’s head. “The CIA doesn’t share its toys, Macy.”   
  
Stalker girl ¬– Macy − smirked and drew her own gun, aiming it at Kevin. “You shoot him, I shoot you, problem solved, and I get a dead spook into the deal. Win, win, let’s all go out for ice cream.”   
  
Mike did the only sensible thing. He turned and ran.   
  
“Mike, stop!” Kevin yelled behind him as Mike approached the edge of the helipad, the city laid out before him, a million little lights sparkling in the darkness.   
  
Mike stopped, his feet refusing to take orders as− _schematicslabels **bomb** generalNATOpraguemilanassignmentcontractvoicetriggerkillpie_   
  
Kevin was yelling his name again as his head cleared. Mike turned on the spot. “A bomb is going to detonate in the hotel where General O’Neill is speaking tonight,” he said quickly, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he even knew what he was thinking.   
  
Macy scowled at him. “Huh,” she said, nonplussed. “So the dweeb is working with the traitor. Fine.” She swung her gun around sighted down her weapon.   
  
“Wait!” Kevin ordered, his own gun moving in response to track Macy. “Come on, Mike,” he added more gently. “Talk to me. How did you know that?”   
  
Mike took a deep breath. “Ever since....those pictures? I see them, in my head, and then I know things. It's like I’m remembering something I just forgot, except,” he looked up at Kevin. “These are things I shouldn’t know. Things I _couldn’t_  know. What were those pictures?” The last was little more than a whisper.  
  
Kevin sighed. “They were encoded with secrets.” Macy made a disapproving noise, but both men ignored her. “Government secrets,” Kevin added. “All of our intelligence, turned into images.”   
  
Mike gaped at him. “There were thousands, they moved so fast, I could barely see....”   
  
“But you saw them,” Macy cut him off. “Holy...” she breathed softly. “You mean all our secrets are in  _his_  thick skull?” The way she said the words made it clear that she would be happy to take a hacksaw and go digging for them if necessary. She huffed out a breath, blowing up her fringe. “Okay,” she said matter-of-factly. “Bombs first. Is there still time to stop the attack?”   
  
Mike felt a hysterical laugh bubble up out of his chest. “Stop the...who do you think you are?”   
  
Macy grinned, showing teeth. “We’re the big damn heroes, that's who, and we stop bombs from exploding. Now, come on, tell us, is there still time?”   
  
Mike shook his head. “It’s voice activated on a keyword, but I’m not...call Tom, if he’s such a big-shot spy, make him help you.”   
  
“Tom is dead,” Kevin shot back, his voice strained. “He died sending our secrets to you. So you’re the one that has to do this.” He took half a step towards Mike. “Come on, think! Is there time?”   
  
Mike felt like he’d been kicked. “Tom is dead?” he whispered as everything shattered.   
  
Kevin nodded, eyes wide but compassionate. “I’m sorry.”  
  
There was an annoyed noise, then a gunshot split the night. Mike flinched so badly he almost fell off the edge of the helipad. “Listen, this is all very Hallmark moment,” Macy said sarcastically. “But there is a bomb that we should probably stop from going boom. If you can fit it into your busy gossip session, that is?”   
  
Mike looked between them. From somewhere deep in his subconscious came the knowledge he needed. He nodded.   
  
Macy grabbed one arm, Kevin the other, and they hauled him off the helipad.   
  
=====   
  
They ran through the hotel lobby, drawing looks from the patrons. “This way!” Mike yelled, pointed down a wide corridor. He didn’t know how he knew, he just  _knew_.   
  
“Wait!” Kevin snapped, yanking him back so hard Mike’s feet went out from under him and he sprawled in an ungainly heap on the carpet. “You’re too valuable, wait here.” Next to him, Macy scowled and nodded. “Just tell us where to go.”  
  
Mike snorted and scrambled to his feet. “Yeah,” he grinned. “This way.” Kevin was stronger, but Mike had height and surprise on his side, leaping clear of their arms and racing ahead of them. They caught up to him just as he pushed open the wide double doors to the conference hall.   
  
Inside were hundreds of people, many in uniform, seated around large tables. On stage, a grey-haired man with the epaulets of a General was droning on. “Where is it, boy wonder?” Macy hissed.   
  
Mike scanned the room, looking for someone sinister, or a box marked ‘ACME Dynamite Company,’ or anything that would tell him what to do next.   
  
His eyes settled on one of the large speakers set up on either side of the stage, and his eyes moved of their own volition along the cables back to the sound desk. “They’re in the speakers,” he said calmly, the words once again coming out from somewhere beyond his conscious thoughts.   
  
“You sure?” Macy asked, a clear note of disbelief threading through her voice.   
  
Kevin was already scanning the room with a professional eye. “He’s got the schematics in his head,” he pointed out, like Mike wasn’t even there.   
  
“Great,” Macy groaned as Mike bridled. “How the hell can we get to it without starting a stampede?”   
  
“And then we’ve got to disarm it.” He nodded at two heavy-set guys in dark suits. “Think they’d believe us?”   
  
Macy smirked. “We could take them,” she said with a confident little shrug. “But we don’t know how much time we’ve got left. Hey, where are you going?” she added, grabbing Mike’s wrist.   
  
“Sound desk. I’ve got an idea.”   
  
Macy looked him up and down. “You seeing something in our secrets, boy-dweebius?” she asked scornfully.   
  
“No. I mean...” he ran his free hand through his hair and looked to Kevin. “I can do this.” Kevin hesitated. “Please,” Mike added. “Trust me.”   
  
Kevin stared at him for a long second, then strode out towards the table at the back of the room where a bored-looking guy was sitting behind a portable mixing desk. “You! You need a bathroom break, right now,” he snapped, reaching over to haul him out by the collar when he didn’t move fast enough. “Okay, now what?”   
  
Mike pushed past Kevin, the bottle he had stolen off the bar in the other corner of the room heavy in his hands. “There’s a latch at the back, it should open the leads cover. Got it?” Taking a deep breath, Mike leaned over and drowned the sensitive electronics in vodka.   
  
There was a hiss, and a spark, and the smell of burning wiring. On stage, the speakers popped, whined, and began to smoke gently. The General’s voice was silenced as an acrid stench floated across the stage and triggered the fire alarms.   
  
Mike followed Kevin and Macy as they skirted the crowds moving for the doors. The spotlights flooded the stage, and Mike blinked into their glare as he climbed up after Macy and Kevin. “Wow,” Macy said shortly as she stood on her toes to peer into the hollowed back of the speakers. Mike had the feeling it wasn’t a word she said often. “The dweeb was right.”   
  
“Don’t touch it!” Mike and Kevin said in stereo.   
  
Macy held up her hands, rolling her eyes as she crossed the stage and grabbed Mike’s elbow. “Come on, you’ve got the schematics, disarm it.”   
  
Mike gaped at her. She tsked under her breath, span him around and pushed him towards the speaker stack. Feeling the heat of her gaze, he leaned in closer. The packet was hard to spot, wrapped in dark paper. Mike poked it gingerly, freezing as a wave of information superimposed on the back of his eyeballs for a moment. Behind him, he heard Macy say "have we got another plan for when he fails?"   
  
Mike grinned to himself, grabbed the packet, and yanked it clear. One of the connecting wires made went ‘ping’ as it broke loose.   
  
He turned, holding the packet casually as he waited for Kevin and Macy to get up from where they had dived behind a table. “Here’s your bomb,” he said cheerfully, tossing it to Macy.   
  
She caught it gingerly, turning it over in her hands. She made a face, leaned in, and sniffed it. “The detonation circuit is fried,” she said.   
  
Mike beamed at her. “Vodka and electronics really don’t mix,” he said, toasting her with the bottle. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get very, very drunk.”   
  
He dropped off the end of the stage, snagging another bottle from an ice bucket as he passed. He didn’t know what he was expected, but he hadn’t expected that they’d just let him go. His shoulders tensed instinctively as he heard someone move.   
  
“Wait,” he heard Kevin murmur. “We need him.”   
  
Mike nodded in silent agreement and walked out the door.   
  
======   
  
The sunlight was just starting to sparkle off the waters of Lake Michigan when Kevin walked over to the park bench Mike had claimed and sat down. “Wow,” Mike said flatly, not even looking over. “You really are a spy.”   
  
He heard Kevin’s soft chuckle. “You weren’t that hard to find.”   
  
They sat in companionable silence as the light grew stronger, chasing the shadows away. “What now?” Mike asked at last. He had spend the cold hours before dawn thinking up possible answers to that question, each more horrifying than the last. “Macy puts a bullet in my brain?” He finally looked at Kevin, wearing a macabre smile. “Or would that damage the merchandise?”   
  
Kevin bumped his shoulder into Mike’s. “We’re not the bad guys, Mike. As for you, now you go back home, to your friends.”   
  
“And what do I tell them?” Mike asked.   
  
“Nothing,” Kevin said flatly, voice hard. “The less they know, the safer they’ll be.”   
  
“And me?” Mike felt a hysterical giggle bubbling in his chest. “I know everything, how safe am I?”   
  
Kevin met his eyes and smiled softly. “We’ll protect you,” he said intently. “We’ll teach you how to use the Intersect, and you’ll work for us.”   
  
Mike shook his head and looked back out over the waters. “Why did Tom send this to me?”   
  
Kevin had no answer. Mike sighed, head bowed as he rested his elbows on his knees.   
  
“Mike?” Kevin’s fingers were warm and dry as they touched Mike’s wrist. “I need you to do something for me?” Mike pulled his head up slowly. Kevin leaned in. “For this to work," he said, voice barely louder than a whisper. "I need you to trust me.”   
  
Mike took a deep breath, straightening up as the air filled his lungs. “I should get back,” he said instead of answering. “The guys are probably wondering why I’m not home yet.”   
  
Kevin sat back, giving Mike space. “Got a nice tale of conquest and triumph for them?” he asked lightly.   
  
Mike felt the corner of his mouth quirk up despite himself. “One without bombs, huh?”   
  
“That would be for the best,” Kevin nodded. “Mike, there's one other thing. For this to work, I’m going to need to be close to you, at all times, so we’re going to need a cover.”   
  
Mike blinked, and Kevin saw the exact instant his meaning sunk in. “A cover. For real?” His face went blank as he put together the pieces. “Like, last night’s date?”   
  
Kevin kept his face impassive, and just nodded. “And if you’re going to tell a story of triumph and manly success, maybe we could keep up the ruse of cover-dating. It would be a useful story.”   
  
For a brief moment, Mike looked like he wanted to punch someone. Then his fury faded, leaving only an impression of deep tiredness. “Well,” he said standing up. “I know you’ve got my number, and my address, and who knows what else. Call me.”   
  
Kevin watched him leave. Mike never noticed the security escort peel out of a side-street to follow him. Kevin stayed on the bench, wind tugging at his hair, and waited.   
  
“I still say this is a bad idea.” Macy appeared out of nowhere and dropped onto the seat where Mike had just been. “How the hell did you convince General Salpeter to agree with it?”   
  
Kevin glanced at her before turning back to the lake. “We have our orders,” he said bluntly. He made a face. “How you got on this job is what I’d like to know.”   
  
When he looked back, Macy was grinning happily. “Hey, you have your ways, I have mine.” She jerked her head back up the street. “You realize the dweeb is going to be a total liability in the field, right?”   
  
Kevin shrugged. “He’s got the Intersect, and he seems to be able to use it. And we still don’t know why Tom sent it to him. He must have had a reason.”   
  
“Yeah,” Macy said sarcastically. “A rogue-spying, treason-loving, tree-hugging, country-betraying reason.”   
  
Kevin resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I can see it’s going to be a pleasure working with you, Major Misa.”   
  
Macy barked a laugh and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll let you know when the General hands down her orders.” She walked away, leaving Kevin alone on the bench once more.   
  
The sun had risen fully by now, and there were one of two joggers appearing on the path that ran around the lake’s edge. Kevin waited until none were near before idly pulling out his phone.   
  
He flicked through the menus into a hidden folder. On screen, bathed in sunlight, Tom smiled into the camera. The next photo was one taken at arm’s length, Kevin leaning against Tom’s shoulder, both of them smiling like they had no cares in the world.   
  
Kevin sighed, and buried the photos once more. He stood up, pushed the phone into his pocket, and walked away.   
  
=====   
  
By the time he had made it home, everyone had already left for work. Tugging on his wrinkled work shirt, he grabbed a pop tart and tried to ignore the weird feeling of disconnect between today and yesterday.   
  
Last night he had defused a bomb. Today he was going to sell flat screens to frat boys. This was his life, one minute at a time, or at least one supercomputer in his head. He stopped, sighed, and wondered if he'd ever fully process this. Then the hot filling burned his tongue, and Mike cursed and grabbed his shit as he ran for the bus.   
  
Catcalls filled the store as he walked up the aisle towards the staff only areas. Tossing his bag into his locker, he turned and ran straight into William. “Have a good time last night, hmm?” he asked as he tugged at Mike’s collar with one long finger. “No hickies. Or are they all  _lower_?”   
Mike shoved his shoulder. Bill swayed with the motion and came back, wrapping one arm around Mike's shoulders in a manly hug. "I'm proud of you. I mean, that's what I'm talking about, getting back on that horse." He grinned, his nose wrinkling. "Or was he the cowboy? Yeehaw?"   
  
Mike pushed past him, flipping Bill off as he started cackling like a hyena. He didn’t need to lie; obviously, he just had to not correct everyone’s assumptions.   
  
“Better hurry, Michael,” William called after him from he had slumped against the staffroom table. “Gabe is looking for you.”   
  
Mike cursed and dashed back out into the store and over to the manager’s office. Gabe was standing in the doorway, surveying his domain. “Carden!” he drawled as Mike approached. “On time and well dressed as always, I see.”   
  
Mike scowled.   
  
“And so cheery of disposition too, wonderful,” Gabe said sarcastically. “Got a job for you. Newbie training. And make sure the Alexes don’t get a hold of her.”   
  
Mike had a bad feeling. He turned, following Gabe’s outstretched finger.   
  
Macy scowled at him, already wearing the horrible green shirt of the floor staff. Nodding at Gabe, he moved over to her. “Hey,” he said cautiously, well aware of the Alexes lurking behind the CD display and Suarez and Nasty Nate loitering by the sales table. “I’ll be training you today,” he managed to spit out.   
  
Macy grinned evilly. “Other way round, dweeb,” she said, sotto voce.   
  
Mike huffed out a breath. “Okay, I think you can figure out the rest on your own. Hey, have you met the Alexes?”   
  
On cue, the triplets appear, all but drooling over Macy. “Hi,” they said together in their weird triplet way. One of the Alexes leaned in and sniffed her hair.   
  
Macy glared at Mike as he beat a retreat to a safe distance. He figured Macy wouldn’t hurt them permanently, and in the meantime it might take some of the attention off him, give him a moment to just  _think_.   
  
As the whimpering started to drift out of the aisle he had left them in, Mike wandered over to the TV wall. Someone was standing there, looking at the DVD players, and Mike’s smile froze as Kevin turned and gave him a coy little wave. The overhead lights caught the narrow band of silver around his ring finger. Mike blinked as his focus tunneled in on the ring, excluding everything else around him.  
  
The images slammed into his brain, a hummingbird shattering to reveal security footage, Kevin spinning on the spot to kick a gun out of a man’s hand, catching it and bringing it to bear in one fluid motion. The implanted memory was so rich, Mike could hear the echoes of the blast off the concrete walls out of frame. The second assailant was punched to the ground, and there was a second blast. For a brief second, Kevin looked directly through the camera, and then the memory cut to static.   
  
Mike exhaled as the Intersect let him go. Kevin was there, just finishing the nod. The whole scene had played out in his mind in a split second, but Mike doubted he’d ever be able to forget that cold look in Kevin’s eyes as he gunned those men down.   
  
He felt frozen to the spot as Kevin started to walk towards him, smiling sweetly.   
  
Mike swallowed convulsively. “Don’t freak out,” he told himself. “Just don’t freak out.”


End file.
